


Cataract

by i_claudia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For cherrybina's prompt: <i>Arthur/Merlin, snow</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cataract

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/40980.html#cutid2). (11 December 2009)

Merlin trudges after Arthur resignedly, doing his level best to keep the snow out of his boots and hoping his fingers are still attached to his hands, even if he can’t feel them. He’s trying to think of a spell to give Arthur an uncomfortable rash when Arthur stops and throws out his arms.

“Here we are,” he announces, and Merlin gives his back a surly look.

“Couldn’t we have done whatever it is you wanted to do back in Camelot?” he asks plaintively. “Where it was warm?”

Arthur glances back at him, and Merlin’s heart of stone is _not_ melted a little by the happy light in Arthur’s face, not at all.

“Don’t be foolish, Merlin,” Arthur declares, and suddenly it’s a lot easier to be mean-spirited again. “Could you have seen _this_ in Camelot?”

Merlin shuffles forward to stand next to Arthur, already vowing to be completely unimpressed by whatever Arthur is showing him, but even so he stops short when he looks up, entirely captivated. 

They’re standing on a low cliff overlooking a river, its clear water covered with ice and a smooth, thick layer of snow. That isn’t what catches Merlin’s eye, though: in front of them is a frozen waterfall, all blue ice dusted with snow, its wild leaping halted by winter’s deathly grip. Merlin can still hear the water trickling underneath, though, can still hear it whispering to itself about spring, when it will crash forth in all its inexorable glory once more.

He realizes, sneaking a sideways look at Arthur, that Arthur’s never brought another living soul here, that this is something he discovered and kept private, a part of his life he doesn’t have to share with everyone who looks to him for aid or guidance or duty. And Merlin’s boots are still soaked, his fingers still frozen, but he slips a hand into Arthur’s anyway, squeezing as he leans on Arthur’s shoulder, just a little.

It’s starting to snow again, big flakes drifting lazily down, but all Merlin sees is the cautious smile fighting its way across Arthur’s face.


End file.
